


Say Uncle

by wargoddess



Series: A Family Affair [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: BDSM, Barebacking, Bondage, Eldritch Abomination, Incest, M/M, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Tentacles, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: Dante and Vergil decide that it's time for Nero to reach the next level.





	Say Uncle

**Author's Note:**

> Nightmare Beta returns, so please pay close attention to the "tentacles" tag. And apologies in advance for glossing over some things, but really, sex between these guys is so ridiculously violent that it doesn't do much for me at all, even though they're all in. Hope it still works despite that.

     Living with Dante was weird.  Well, not as weird as consolation sex with his father, but that was only because the whole incident had been _super_ fucking weird, so Nero just tried not to think about it on most days.

     Life with Dante made this easy.  Devil May Cry rarely had walk-in business, and Dante spent most of his time sleeping at his desk because of it.  Nero put up with this for a couple of days, venting restless energy by cleaning up rooms that apparently hadn't been swept or dusted since Dante bought the place, before finally getting fed up.  "Let's go to India," he said to Dante.

     Dante stirred enough to push back the cowboy hat he'd taken to wearing, because while it was down it was less obvious to potential customers that he was asleep.  "What the hell for?" he asked, stretching.

     Nero slapped down a newspaper.  "Lamia infestation at a resort in Goa.  See, there's plenty of work out there, if we go _get_ it."

     Dante sighed.  "It's a twenty-plus-hour flight.  By the time we get there, someone else will have taken care of it.  India's lousy with devil hunters."

     It was probably true, but Nero set his jaw.  "We could beat them to it," he suggested, "if Vergil took us.  The Yamato -- "

     "Is just as likely to cut a new portal to the demon world, by accident.  S'why I never liked that damn sword.  Vergil doesn't care if he causes the odd possession or swarm, but I do."  And then, infuriatingly, Dante sat back and favored him with a wry look.  "If you want to see Vergil again, you could just _call_ him, you know."

     Shit.  Nero set his jaw.  "I didn't say I wanted to see him.  And does he even have a goddamned cell, anyway?  Or is he as geriatric as you?"  Annoyed, he gestured at the very rotary, very old, piece-of-shit phone on Dante's desk.

     Dante propped his chin on his fist.  He wasn't smiling; that was the only reason Nero didn't walk out.  Still, there was _something_ in his gaze as he said, "You're his, kid.  If you call out to him, he'll hear."  Then Dante shrugged.  "Whether he'll _answer_ is a whole other matter, of course.  Most days, he's almost as cranky as you."

     There was no part of that statement that Nero liked.  And what had that first sentence meant?  _You're his kid_ , as if Vergil had some kind of spectral hardline connection to any of the progeny he'd carelessly spawned over the years?  (Jesus, that was a horrifying thought.)  Or had it been _You're **his** , kid_, meaning that Vergil kept tabs on any of his relatives that he'd thrown over a bar and fucked?

     _Don't think about it_. 

     "I _said_ I don't want to see him," Nero said, making himself believe it.  "I want something to _do_.  It's fucking boring, just sitting around like this and waiting for a job to come along!  How the hell do you stand it?"

     Dante pointedly glanced at the box of cold pizza on one corner of his desk, and the porn mag on the other corner, and the guitar in the corner, and the jukebox in the other corner.  Nero snarled.  Dante rolled his eyes -- Nero caught that just before he turned to leave -- and finally sighed.

     "Really hope you grow out of the whole demonic hyperactivity thing sometime soon," Dante said, in real irritation.  "I remember having it, but I don't think I knew how _annoying_ I must have been.  Okay.  Let's go down to the basement.  There's a room there with a code-locked door; it's my Devil Arms vault.  We're going to pick out a new weapon for you."

     "That room?  I saw it when I was cleaning."  Then the last sentence caught up with him.  " _What?_ "

     Dante chin-pointed at the Red Queen, currently hooked in its sheath on Nero's shoulder.  "For something human-made, that one's not bad.  But you're getting stronger, so you need a weapon that will fight at your side, not just an inanimate chunk of metal.  It's time."

     Nero stared at him, trying to decide how he felt about this.  He'd customized the Red Queen himself -- but he knew, too, that Dante was right.  The Red Queen had no magic sealing her steel against breakage, no powers that would enhance or complement his own.  And... Nero _had_ held a living sword, once.  It had been too strong for him to properly wield at the time, but he remembered the feel and presence, and promise, of it.

     _I do need more power_ , he thought, turning his hand to stare at the empty palm where Yamato had once lain.  _Maybe now I'm strong enough?_

     Maybe.  But Yamato was Vergil's, so after a moment, Nero let out a long breath and lowered his hand.  Only to find Dante watching him, gaze entirely too keen.  This made Nero frown.  "What?"

     Dante shrugged.  "I was just thinking you should be careful.  Don't get attached to something you haven't earned.  That's all."

     Was Dante talking about the arms in Dante's basement?  Or the Yamato?  Nero scowled.  He hated it when Dante pulled his whole mind-reading schtick.  "I'm not stupid, old man.  I know my limits."

     Dante snorted as if this was impossible, and got to his feet. 

     The basement was a lot cleaner than it had been, now that Nero had dusted and swept and mopped.  Dante whistled in appreciation as they moved down the dimly-lit corridor.  "Aren't you handy.  Might have to keep you around."

     Nero snorted to cover his pleasure in the praise.  "Well, don't get any ideas about loaning me out for extra cash or anything."

     Dante laughed a little.  "Oh, I'm pretty sure you're not for sale anymore, kid."

     Then he stopped at the code-locked door that Nero had seen.  It was an oddly ornate thing, not at all modern, made of heavy wood and stone plates that had been chiseled into artful, ominous baroque designs.  Beautiful -- and when Nero lifted a hand to touch the designs, out of curiosity, his fingers stopped just before contacting the door's surface.  It felt like pressing his hand against a cushion of... nothing, but he could not get past it.

     "You really gotta stop trying to touch things that don't belong to you, Nero.  That's a warding.  Keeps bad things out, and in.  Had a witch do it for me."

     Nero lowered his hand, frowning and rubbing at his fingertips and trying not to be too bothered by the fact that Dante had lumped him in with "bad things."  "So, witches are real?"

     "Your grandfather's a two-thousand-plus-year-old demon knight, dumbass."

     "Ugh.  Okay.  Point."

     Dante moved a hand in front of the door in an elaborate series of gestures, culminating in a twisting motion right in front of the number pad.  Then he punched in 1234.  The numbers that appeared on the pad, however, were 7328.  They changed again, to a series of indecipherable runes, and then somewhere within the door, a tumbler shifted, and gears rattled.  The door swung open.

     "That's a neat trick," Nero said, trying not to show how fascinated he was.  "Are the things in here really that dangerous, though?  Isn't this kind of overkill?"

     "No.  I just put this door here to impress smartasses with my supernatural security measures."  Dante rolled his eyes.  "Yes.  They are.  Now come on."

     The chamber beyond was low-ceilinged and made entirely of rough-hewn stone.  Either the stone was black, or someone had splurged on multiple layers of paint, because even as gas lanterns around the edges of the room lit up -- automatically, somehow -- the whole place still felt gloomy, and a little otherworldly.  Looking down felt sort of like walking through space, with nothing below him but darkness.  Nero stopped looking down after the first few seconds.

     Arranged around the edges of the room were elevated display cases, some attached to the walls and some freestanding.  A few were enclosed, the glass on these cases etched with more weird runes, but most were simply resting on alabaster slabs or in one case, a satin pillow, for artful display.

     But the weapons thus displayed were so wildly different, so eccentric in their designs, that Nero just stared in a circle for a moment, trying to parse it all.  There were swords, maces, nunchaku, brass knuckles, and one extremely elaborate gun with five barrels.  The satin pillow held... an electric guitar?  And some of the things, he couldn't fathom at all.

     "Most of these come from demons I killed," Dante says.  There's a seating area on the far side of the room, with a sectional couch and a coffee table.  It's so mundane that Nero sort of stops and blinks at it, though Dante flops onto the couch and puts up his feet as if he's done this a thousand times.  "A few I got from other demon hunters -- stuff they found and couldn't handle.  Some of it's for sale, for the right price.  Free for you, since technically you run a Devil May Cry franchise.  Yay, perks."  He shrugs.  "So, like I said, pick one."

     "Just like that?"  Nero kept turning and staring.  So many choices.

     In his turning, he caught Dante's smile, which abruptly was less devil-may-care and a lot more enigmatic.  "Some of them will reject you, kid.  Nothing personal; usually it's just a compatibility thing.  Your emanations don't like its emanations, or vice versa.  And some of them will try to kill you."

     Well, shit.  Nero frowned.  "I thought the demons you made these from were dead?"

     "Most of them.  Some are just... sleeping.  And even with the dead ones, a demon's soul isn't ever really _safe_."  Another shrug.  "Just don't let them kill you, and you'll be fine."

     Great.  Shaking his head, Nero turned away and began checking out the display cases.

     A sword, he thought at first; something to replace the Red Queen, and fulfill the deep yearning that the Yamato's loss had left in him.  But the first two swords he looked at weren't suitable at all.  One of them was a huge, unwieldy Claymore that crackled with electricity, but it had none of the Red Queen's elegance.  The second was a thin, rapier-like blade; he disliked it mostly because it was ugly, but also because it didn't feel particularly powerful.  Also because, when he leaned closer to peer at it, he noticed that the narrow blade had begun to curve in a serpentine way, angling so that its tip pointed at him.  "Yeah, no," he said, and backed off.  The rapier seemed to relax and return to its previous shape, but he kept an eye on it as he moved away, regardless.

     He was looking around, and chewing his bottom lip because he'd finally realized this was some kind of test, and finally noticed that Dante was watching him intently... when something pinged on his awareness.  He turned, and found himself drifting toward one of the enclosed display cases.  This one stood apart from the others, and not only did it have runes etched all over its glass cover, but someone had also plastered talismans all over the thing's base.

     Inside the case sat a... actually, Nero had no idea what the thing was.  He wasn't even certain that it was a weapon, despite Dante's assurances.  He thought, at first, that it might be some kind of insect, because it had flangelike appendages along the sides that resembled legs.  But it also had a bulbous, shining head that reminded him a little of the monster from the movie _Alien_.  No insect he'd ever seen had that.  Strange markings covered the plates of its substance, and...

     And it was watching him.  He sensed that with sudden, wary clarity.  Felt its cold contemplation, and its hunger.  That probably wasn't good.

     But there was power, here, too -- more than any other weapon in the chamber except Dante's own sword.  Not as much power as the Yamato, but close.

     "Not a sword, though," he murmured to himself, frowning down at the thing.  "How do you even work?"

     _we are nightmares bound, but_

_for you, we could be_

_a sword_

     Nero tensed at once.  Not taking his eyes off the thing, he raised his voice to Dante.  "Did you hear that?"

     "No, kid.  That one's never spoken to me."  Dante's voice was rueful.  And warning?  "Compatibility thing."

     "What is it?"

     "Whatever it wants to be."  A pause.  "Not necessarily what _you_ want it to be, though."  Definitely a warning, that time.

     And yet.  Nero stepped closer to the case, narrowing his eyes.  This close, he could feel the thing's malevolence, too.  No human hands had made it.  Only Dante had ever touched it, and it had served him -- but grudgingly, bitterly, parceling out only a miserly fragment of its power for him.  For Nero, though, it would give its all.

     Nero snorted.  Even if he hadn't spent half his life fighting demons, he would've smelled the bullshit.  "Come on," he said.  "You're going to try and kill me.  I look stupid to you?"

     Cold amusement in response.  _we_

_are pleased.  stupid prey_

_does not taste as good_

     Nero glanced back at Dante, who hadn't moved and was still watching him too casually, too closely.  It wasn't an obvious thing, because Dante only did obvious when he didn't give a shit.  But although Dante was sprawled over the couch, one foot planted on its cushions because he could, the other propped on the table, he did not look completely relaxed.  It was in the way his core muscles were still engaged, Nero noted.  And in his stillness.  Like a hunting cat, which could pretend complete relaxation until, an instant later, it had dead prey twitching in its jaws.  And to pet such a creature --

     Shit.  He was getting distracted, and in a place like this, that would get him killed.  He turned away from Dante, focused on the case again, and said, "Tell me about this thing."

     "Not much to tell," Dante replied.  "I found it on Mallet Island, the prototype for some kind of experiment the demons were working on.  For me, it became a gun.  Not a very good one.  But like I said, we didn't get along."

     "Nightmares bound," Nero murmured, thoughtfully.  Something about that wording felt familiar.  Then he blinked, remembering.  V.  Who was Vergil.  Who had once served --  Nero inhaled as he understood, then stared down at the thing.  Yes, the feel of this weapon was exactly the same.  "I know you, Nightmare."

     The stir of malevolent interest from the thing increased.  He felt its consideration and examination.

     _you.  taste of the one we_

_once served.  ah.  he owns you_

     Nero bared his teeth in a not-smile.  "That remains to be seen," he said.  "But he no longer has need of you, and I do.  Will you serve me?"

     The air of eagerness began to fade, but Nero suspected this was a trick.  The thing was too hungry to have suddenly lost interest; it was trying to lull him into a false sense of complacency.

     _you_

_are just so_

_human_

     Nero let out an unamused breath.  Demonic negging.  Who knew?  "Wish that was true, buddy."  But even if he was genetically three-quarters human, he was pretty sure he'd lost some points off his humanity stat in the last few months.  Because, well, humans didn't get off on being stabbed with a piece of bar-stool while their fathers, who'd previously _ripped their arms off_ , fucked them raw in the ass.  And if Nero thought too much about any of it, he was going to lose his shit.  "Look, if I ever decide to try therapy, I'll be sure to bring you along to help work on my identity issues.  Until then... let's make a deal."  He paused here, mostly to stir its interest -- because two could play that game.  And Nightmare was listening to him, oh yes.  He could feel that.  "Do your worst.  But if you can't kill me, then you have to do what I say.  Simple, huh?  How's that?"

     More amusement... but greed underlay this.  _we will eat you alive_ , it promised.

     Nero shivered -- in anticipation, rather than fear.  He felt still, inside.  Ready, in a way he'd only ever felt during battle.  The hunger in him made him smile.  Vergil's Nightmare.  Vergil's _power_.

     "Not if I eat you first," Nero breathed, and reached for it. 

     The Nightmare clenched around his hand and arm immediately.  He saw the weird flanges on its side curve inward, digging into his flesh, and he hissed as it pierced skin and muscle and immediately started sucking his blood.  But he'd danced this dance with other demons before, so he waited, baring his teeth in a grin against the pain -- and sure enough, after a moment, the sucking stopped.

     _bitter?  your taste is... we see your trick now.  not human, not entirely_

_like him.  but you are weaker than he was_

**_sO    We    wIlL    sTiLL    fEEd_ **

     All of a sudden, it pulsed a bright, sickly greenish-white.  Its solidity dissolved, the oddness of its shape becoming lumpen, fluid... and then it burst apart into a tangle of glowing whipcord tendrils.  These whipped up Nero's arm all the way to the shoulder, searing his skin as they went, and as he hissed and grabbed for the main lump with his free hand, he could feel the tendrils sucking now at something more vital than his blood.  Strength, energy?  His soul, maybe?  Didn't matter.  It hurt like a son of a bitch and if he didn't find a way to stop it, it was going to kill him.

     He fought its draw, and that slowed it by a lot, gratifyingly.  But then it flexed again and sent out more tendrils -- over his free hand, up that arm, across his chest.  He snarled it away from his throat, though he felt it touch the skin there.  But though he'd restricted its draw, the new contacts meant that it was still taking more than he wanted to give.

     He fell to his knees in the middle of the black room, groaning, and trying to think through the pain.  It had reacted to his will.  If he could just focus --

     "Who's that nibbling at my house?" said a voice behind him, and Nero stiffened even more.  _Shit_.  Just what he needed.

     Vergil strolled into view, eying Nero thoughtfully, as Nero bared his teeth back and tried not to let his father see how much this shit hurt.  "I see," Vergil continued, sounding amused.  "Someone's eyes got too big for his stomach."  He "tsk"-ed, then turned a disdainful look on Dante.  "Why did you let him do this?  I told you that I liked having a son."

     Dante, meanwhile, had not moved from his sprawl on the couch.  He was smiling, in fact, not at all perturbed by Nero's life-and-death struggle.  "And I told you," he said to Vergil, his gaze on Nero, "that you were underestimating him."

     "Will both of you please _shut up?_ " Nero snarled.  "You're fucking with my concentration!"

_we do not care about your concentration --_

     "You, too," he snapped at Nightmare, "unless you're trying to _talk_ me to death.  Now, then." 

     He shut his eyes, and this time concentrated on willing the tendrils off his left hand and arm.  With a rattling hiss, the tendrils there whipped loose and freed the limb, even though they immediately sought new places to root on his nearby thigh.  He was okay with that, though, because the experiment had proved --

     "Mouthy," Vergil said.  Nero started and looked up to see his father crouched before him, watching his struggles with a smile.  "Always so mouthy.  Dante is a terrible influence.  I should do something about that."

     Distracted by this, Nero let his concentration slip -- and immediately Nightmare's tendrils whipped up his throat.  He hissed and they stopped at his chin, licking up toward his lips but failing to reach as he pushed back against their hunger.  They did not constrict to choke him, but the burning was making it hard to breathe anyway, and --

     Vergil took Nero's chin in his fingers.  The tendrils immediately whipped away from his touch, and continued to do so as he let his fingers trail down Nero's throat, freeing it.  Somehow, though, Nero didn't think this was a benevolent gesture on Vergil's part.

     "You're getting the hang of it, I see," Vergil said.  "I think you actually will win this contest -- provided that it remains the fair fight that it has been, thus far."  He cocked his head, his gaze turning wicked.  "Why don't we up the challenge-level a bit?"

     "Wh-what?"  Oh, shit.

     Vergil stood and moved behind him -- and abruptly Nero felt a new will, cool and focused, impose itself on the Nightmare.  The weapon complied immediately, re-twisting itself into new shapes, with a new purpose.  And all of a sudden Nero found himself suspended in the middle of the room, spread-eagled and bound to a floor-to-ceiling framework of glowing, pulsing tendrils.  Loose lines whipped over him, making him cry out, burning his clothes into pieces and plucking away the shreds...

     "Oh, you fucking _pervert_ ," Nero groaned as he understood.

     Vergil merely laughed, sliding a hand over Nero's now-bare midriff.  His hand was very warm, and Nero did _not_ like how it felt.  Nope.  Not one bit.  "Hush, now," he said.  "Stop whining.  You chose this challenge, after all, so you have no right to complain about how it goes." 

     He was close, suddenly, chest pressing against Nero's bare back, and it was impossible not to remember the feel of his weight on that night.  Or the sound of him grunting softly into Nero's ear with each thrust...  Nero swallowed, and tried to focus on Nightmare.  Because no matter why Vergil had decided to complicate matters, the Nightmare's tendrils still burned wherever they touched, sucking at him like he was some kind of humanoid Capri Sun.

     "You chose _my_ weapon," Vergil continued.  He murmured this against the curve of Nero's shoulder, and the touch of his lips and the hum of his voice made Nero shiver in spite of himself.  "A room full of treasures, and you picked _that_ one.  Why?"

     Nero swallowed, trying very hard not to get turned on because he was fucking naked and hanging all out here.  It bothered him, too, that Dante was watching -- even though, Nero realized, Dante had simply propped his chin on his fist, and seemed neither concerned nor interested in the tableau before him.  What did that mean?  It bothered Nero that Dante seemed so unaffected.  It bothered him that he _wanted_ Dante affected.  Why the fuck was he --

     Vergil bit him.  Nero gasped because suddenly his father's teeth were sharp and they'd broken the skin.  It wasn't the first time Vergil had bitten him, but there had been a palpably unfriendly warning in it, this time.  _He's off-limits_ , Nero remembered him saying.  Dante.  And mostly Nero was fine with that, because Nero wasn't really ready to start thinking about his uncle that way even if there _was_ something about him that fascinated Nero, some allure that drew him as firmly as a moth to flame, and he...

     ...did not need to be thinking about Dante, if he wanted to survive this.

     Okay.  Vergil first.  "It's the strongest one," he said, in answer to Vergil's question.  "I need more power.  That's all there is to it."

     "Liar," Vergil said, kissing his shoulder.  He moved up to Nero's ear, nibbled its outer edge, and then bit Nero again.  Nero could not help the quick shudder that passed through him, and he hated that Vergil would surely feel it, pressed tight as he was.  And sure enough, Vergil laughed.  "You wanted it because it was mine."

     Before Nero could answer -- or choose to stay silent -- Nightmare's tendrils abruptly surged up his limbs again, and beyond.  Now they whipped around his throat again, though he fought this.  Before he could get them off his throat, however, two of the thinner tendrils laced their way along his chest until they found his nipples, which they encircled and then plucked at, delicately.  The touch of the things still burned, but...

     "F-fuck," Nero blurted.  He could hear himself breathing harder.  There was probably no pretending that he wasn't turned on, not any more.  And Dante was still watching.  Did he like --

     "You covet my things," Vergil said, and Nero flinched in guilt.  "You keep me from killing what's mine.  You interfere in my life at so many turns, my son.  What _am_ I to do with you?"

     His hands cupped the backs of Nero's thighs, pulling them up, repositioning him.  Nightmare hissed but complied, burning new lines into Nero's thighs as it looped 'round his knees to hold them in place.  It raised his arms, too, pinning the wrists together above his head, licking burns into his biceps when he instinctively tried to fight this and failed.  He was getting _distracted_ , damn it; he knew physical strength was not the way to fight the weapon.  He shut his eyes and concentrated on making Nightmare release his wrists.  He felt the tendrils there tremble, beginning to obey -- and then Vergil uttered a low, subaural growl that Nero felt rather than heard.  The tendrils tightened again, searing and sucking, and he heard Nightmare's hollow, inhuman laugh.

     Okay.  He wasn't going to be able to fight Vergil _and_ Nightmare.  So -- work with Vergil?  Give him what he wanted.  It wasn't Nero's nature to just give in, but --

     Vergil slid two fingers inside him, and that pretty much decided the issue right there, because _holy fuck_ his whole body rang with sudden, ferocious demand.  It remembered the feel of Vergil, remembered those questing, working fingers, and wanted more of what he'd given it before.

     And Nightmare... purred, at Nero's pleasure.  In that instant, the pain of its contact with his skin lessened.

     Nero blinked away sweat.  Okay.  That was useful.

     He tried to think about it as Vergil stepped closer and gripped his hips and replaced the fingers with something else.  That was hard -- thinking -- because Vergil's roughness didn't leave much room for thought, and because Nero hadn't been willing to admit 'til now how much he'd wanted this again, in the days that had passed since that first taking.  It felt good and he loved that.  It hurt and he loved that, too.  And as he writhed and tried not to and moaned and tried not to and goddamn it, even started to enjoy the way Nightmare burned and ate at him, he finally figured it out.

     Nightmare.  It ate vitality.  Blood if it could get it.  Pain if it could not.  But energy took many forms, and if he fed it his arousal instead -- The pain stopped instantly, except where Vergil kept relentlessly fucking him, and that was pleasure too.  Not enough, because Vergil was deliberately not touching Nero's cock and that was driving him fucking nuts, but a lot.

     And Nero wasn't just fucking one demon, was he?  A slow smile spread across his lips.

     He visualized what he wanted and used this to tug gently at Nightmare, rather than shoving his will back against it.  It, and Vergil, wanted him helpless, immobile, there only for their use and pleasure.  He was down for that.  In fact, if Nightmare would just help him out...

     One of the thicker tendrils detached itself from the frame near his waist, wavering for a moment.  Then it slithered around one thigh, looped down under Nero's balls, and twined itself in loops around his cock.  It flexed again, hard enough to hurt but also _perfect_ , and he let his head fall back, groaning in ragged relief.

     _oh, this is_

_not at all what we expected, but_

_we are delighted. such exquisite food you are_

     Nero grinned, and felt the prick of fangs against his lips.  "You're not so bad yourself."  God, this was amazing.  He shut his eyes and gave in to temptation.  "C'mere."

     At the invitation of his will, Nightmare hiss-slithered across his skin, laying claim to more of his flesh.  The tickles at his nipples turned to tugs, just hard enough to make him flinch.  Several smaller tendrils whipped together and slid into his mouth, stroking his tongue, and he shuddered and suckled at them to ease his sudden craving for something entirely different in his mouth.  He wanted more.  He wanted...

     Dante, who sat so still, legs wide apart in blatant suggestion, a smile on his lips that might have been nothing, or a promise.

     Nero didn't realize what he'd done until Nightmare's tendrils were halfway across the floor of the black room, curling and whipping as they flowed toward Dante like water.  _Yes_ , he thought hungrily --

     -- and then _No_ , because Dante was _off-limits_ \--

     -- but he wanted, God, he wanted so much --

     -- and the tendrils stopped, tips tapping impatiently in response to the conflict in his will.  Dante raised his eyebrows, amused.

     Vergil stopped, fully-seated within him, keeping him close with a taloned hand on his belly.  "Well, well," Vergil said, with two voices.  "And there you go again, wanting what's mine."

     "M -- "  The tendrils pulled out of his mouth obligingly; he coughed.  "I'm sorry," he blurted, panting, shaking.  He couldn't think.  "Please."

     Vergil let out a soft, rumbling sound that might have been pleasure, or a warning.  "I think I like hearing you beg.  Please what?"

     Please everything.  Nero tried to focus.  No, not everything.  Not _Dante_ , or Vergil would kill him.  "Please?  I just... shit, Vergil, I can't take it."  What was he begging for?  He didn't even know.

     Vergil wrapped a hand around his throat from behind, holding his head still.  He leaned in, and kissed Nero's cheek with astonishing tenderness.  "He _is_ beautiful, isn't he," Vergil growl-murmured.  And then, as if to defy the gentleness of his kiss, he started thrusting again -- harder, rougher, bigger because he wasn't bothering to keep his shape fully human.  Nero sobbed with the use, trying to figure out if he was going to die like this, and pretty sure he wouldn't mind, if he did.  "I can only commend your taste, Nero, if he's what you crave.  But do you actually think you're worthy of him?"

     "I... I don't..."  He wasn't.  He wasn't strong enough, and he knew it.  But he could be stronger.  "No.  But Vergil, I... fuck, I just..."

     And then Vergil paused, which made him cry out again, this time with thwarted need.  But when Nero managed to open his eyes, he saw why:  Dante had gotten to his feet.

     He pushed the coffee table aside with his foot, carelessly, and tossed off his coat.  Then, as Vergil and Nero stared, Dante spread his arms and walked forward.  That same not-smile was on his lips, and the sight of it made Nero's heart clench with longing.  That smile:  a threat?  A promise?  He had no idea, and wasn't sure he cared.  Dante was magnificent.  There was a red glimmer, a flex of wings and flame, and when he resolved back to human-shape, Dante was nude, and Nero could not stop staring.  He was like Vergil, all broad shoulders and long muscle, and yet not.  There was a single blemish on his frame:  a narrow, darkened scar over his sternum, which Nero knew at once had to be from a sword-strike.  But what sword could _permanently scar_ a son of Sparda?

     Dante stepped onto the tendrils of Nightmare, and they immediately shot up his legs, lacing his skin in glowing green-black.  His smile widened at this, teeth sharpening, and then Nero could not see where the tendrils went because Dante's face filled his vision.  He trembled when Dante slid a hand along his jaw, then stepped closer still.  Pressing against Nero, free hand stroking his thigh.  Now Nero hung between them, Vergil behind, Dante before, Nightmare hissing in delight along his skin and in his mind --

     Nero lost himself, then, for a while.  It was just too much for his humanity, he understood, and perhaps his sanity.  Much later he would recall impressions of what happened, just flashes of image and sound and sensation.  Himself, screaming into Dante's mouth as Vergil laughed and tore at him from behind.  Dante kissing Vergil, inhumanly long tongue thrusting, and dragging clawtips up Nero's cock as Nero came all over them both -- helplessly, mindlessly, whimpering out Dante's name as he did.  Wings everywhere:  his own, flailing; Dante's, enveloping; Vergil's, flaring above them all as if to challenge the heavens themselves.  Nightmare tying them all together, in pain and abject joy.

     He came back to himself on his knees, still on the floor of the black room.  Dante and Vergil were gone from his immediate vicinity.  A shapeless lump of green-black sat before him, quiescent, although when Nero put his hand on it, it began to reshape itself.  He staggered to his feet, shaky from recent healing, but his will was clear and undeniable.  He lifted Nightmare, and it became a sword with a graceful, curving black blade, bigger even than the Red Queen.  Its hilt worked in his hand until it solidified, cool and scaled against his palm, its crossbar lined with sharp black teeth.

     "Black King," Nero said.  In his mind, Nightmare hummed in sleepy, sated acceptance of its new name, and its new master.

     Then he turned.  Dante and Vergil were on the couch.  Dante lay on his back, relaxed, still watching him.  Vergil slept with his head on Dante's shoulder.  Nero marveled at this, that his father could actually sleep in a room full of weapons and rivals. 

     But... _were_ they rivals?  He paused, suddenly intrigued by possibility.

     Dante smiled.  "Congratulations, kid."  He nodded toward the Black King.  "Knew you could do it."

     Nero blushed in spite of himself.  "Um, thanks," he said.  He focused for a moment and the sword vanished into etherspace, waiting for the next time that he needed it.  But with that done, he abruptly didn't know what to do with himself.  He should leave, maybe.  Dante and Vergil were so strong together, something special, and... he was not part of that.  He was _something_ to them, he knew; he had felt that in those blistering moments of shared madness and delight.  With time, and care, he might be more.  But...

     Dante's arm uncurled, hand extended.  It was a big couch.  Plenty of room for Nero, too.

     As much as he wanted it, Nero hesitated.  Would Vergil let him have this?  But then he realized Vergil _had_ done so... because Dante wanted it.  And because, perhaps, Nero had finally earned it.

     Okay, then.  Nero swallowed shyly, then went over and climbed onto the couch, moving gingerly so as not to jostle them.  He worried that it would be weird, resting against Dante, and maybe it was, just a little.  Dante smelled like leather and good whiskey and Vergil... and Nero.  But then Dante folded an arm around Nero, his hand ruffling Nero's hair, and suddenly it wasn't weird at all anymore.  Just different.

     And as Nero relaxed onto his shoulder, lulled by warmth and comfort and the memory of supernaturally good sex, he understood something new.  They weren't rivals.  They were _family_.  And this, the three of them, was everything Nero had not known he'd wanted.

     The instant that the realization occurred, something changed inside him, crystallizing into focus, making his soul ring with the sudden and powerful awareness of its true purpose.  _This_.  He would fight for this.  He would do whatever it took to keep his father and uncle safe.  When he opened his eyes, he was relieved to find Vergil awake, too, watching him across the expanse of Dante's chest.  Yes.  Vergil understood.  Without strength, they couldn't protect anything.  Vergil would help him be strong.

     Then Dante sighed hard enough to jostle them both.  "Go to sleep, you dramatic dumbasses," he murmured.  "We'll figure out how all this works in the morning."

     Nero blushed.  But Vergil nodded, once, before closing his eyes.  And that was... okay. 

     Oh, who was he kidding?  That was _fucking awesome_.

     Family.  Nero shut his eyes and fell asleep with a smile on his lips, more content than he'd ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> I *think* I might be done, as of this one. I hope so, because I really do have other things to do! But also because with this, it feels like the relationship has reached a point of stability, and potential equilibrium. Nero still loves Kyrie, but I'm not sure he's ever going to be able to have a romantic relationship with her again, now that he's accepted the fact that he gets off on things that would kill an ordinary human being. She knows it, too, which is why she left him. Then, too, Nero has just acquired two incredibly possessive lovers, and I doubt that either of them thinks Kyrie is worthy of Nero, mostly because she isn't likely to pick up a sword and go to battle on his behalf. So even if she does ever want him back, it's looking unlikely.
> 
> I don't think this is particularly terrible, though. Most people leave their teenage first loves behind, after all, as they grow into themselves and figure out who they really are. Nero's version of this is just, hmm, bloodier and more incestuous than usual.
> 
> Sidenote: it was also bugging the hell out of me that Nero didn't have a "proper" demonic weapon, so I fixed it. Take that, Capcom!
> 
> Anyway, you guys know what an asshole my muse is. So I'll just say done "for now." (ominous eyebrow waggle) Hope you liked!


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